The stories behind the buildings, statues and other points of interest that make Manhattan fascinating.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

The 1820 Boddy House -- No. 105 Mercer Street

photo by Alice Lum

Three decades after the Treaty of Paris that ended the
American Revolutionary War, the residential edge of New York City had pushed
northward, engulfing the fields and farmland that in nearly another two
centuries would be known as SoHo. Among
the new streets was relatively east-west-running Mercer Street, named in honor
of Brigadier General Hugh Mercer, who died from wounds he received in the
Battle of Princeton.

In 1819 construction began on a two-and-a-half story brick
house at No. 105 Mercer Street. Completed
in 1820 it shared the Federal style elements of many of its neighbors—Flemish bond
brickwork, prim dormers within the pitched roof, and a shallow brownstone stoop
above an English basement. The builder
distinguished No. 105 with especially fine details. The carved brownstone lintels of the openings
and entrance altered plain panels with decorative vermiculated blocks. An extremely finely-leaded fanlight over the
door radiated delicate spokes within an intricately carved frame. Fluted Ionic columns flanked the paneled
door.

Along with the delicate molding and lacy iron fan light, close inspection reveals carved rosette panels on the underside of the arch -- photo by Alice Lum

While the house was by no means a mansion, these features
elevated it beyond one intended merely for a working class family. Mary Boddy, who was the original owner, was
listed as a “seamstress.” More likely
she was a dressmaker, unless she were married to a successful merchant or
craftsman. There were numerous seamstresses
at the time. Needlework was among the
most common professions for women and seamstresses most often worked at home or
for a dressmaker, earning scant wages.

Dressmakers, on the other hand, were experienced and
accomplished. They were responsible for
producing (and often designing) an entire garment and the best dressmakers were
paid handsomely. Only a dressmaker could
afford to purchase and maintain a handsome home like No. 105 Mercer Street.

photo by Alice Lum

The neighborhood would enjoy its respectable nature for
three decades before its homeowners moved northward. In the 1850s commerce had caught up to the
district; but not in an especially good way.
It not only became the center of entertainment; but many houses became boarding houses, often with shady character. Greene, Mercer and Crosby Streets during this
period constituted New York’s most notorious red light district.

Current writers continuously brand No. 105 Mercer Street as
one of these brothels. Reports of police
raids and arrests do not mention the address.
However the suicide of a young woman who lived here in 1853 may support the
theory. The lives of prostitutes more
often than not ended tragically; often in suicide.

On Sunday June 14, 1853 the 19-year woman old left No. 105 Mercer
with a friend, Grace Howard. They walked
to the drug store at No. 125 Greenwich Street where she purchased “an ounce of
laudanum and a shilling’s worth of vitriol,” according to The New York Times a
few days later.

Disconsolate, she had “declared that she would destroy herself
on more than one occasion.” She returned
to the Mercer Street house where she drank the poison. Someone rushed to the home of a nearby
physician, Dr. Chalmers, but he was not home.
“Another physician was applied to,” said The Times, “who sent two
powders to be taken in warm water. The
powders were of no service, and the poor girl died shortly after.”

The newspaper’s reluctance to give the girl’s name—in view
of the suggestion that No. 105 was a disorderly house—was summed up in the
final line of the article. “The deceased…has
highly respectable connections residing in the City.”

The dangerous and sordid character of the neighborhood was
evident in February 1863. Two doors
away, the house at No. 101 Mercer Street had been converted to a saloon, as had
the neighboring house at No. 99. Edward
Dodge lived at No. 105 and on Friday night, February 6, at around 8:30 or 9:00
he heard pistol shots coming from the rear yards.

Immediately after, Dodge heard the rapping of a
policeman’s club on the sidewalk—the signal for additional help. Two days later he told a jury “I went into
the street and followed the officer in No. 99 where I saw deceased lying dead
in the bar-room.”

The “deceased” was a deserter from the Union Army named
Reid. He had been tracked to the saloon
at No. 101 Mercer by Clark W. Beach, a detective and Inspector of the
Recruiting Department; along with Police Officer Brady. When they attempted to arrest Reid, he “started
to run through the hall toward the back door,” according to Beach’s
testimony.

Reid jumped the fence into the yard of No. 99 and was shot
three times by the policeman. Reid
stumbled into the backdoor of the bar and pleaded with Philip Loew, the
bartender “Philip, help me, I am shot.”
Loew testified “I handed him a glass of water, but before he could drink
it he fell to the floor, and soon afterwards expired.”

The owner of both houses at No. 105 and No. 103 was Gustave
Herter. In July 1864, the year after the
shooting of Reid, he began work on enlarging the basement areas of both
properties. “As is usual in such cases,
an excavation was made under or near the sidewalk,” reported The New York Times
on June 23 a year later.

At around 1:00 a.m. on July 13, 1864 Amos M. Butler was
walking alone along the sidewalk and fell into the construction hole. Court papers would explain that he “was found
in one of these excavations nearly suffocated, and survived only a few hours
after being taken out.” A year later
Herter was in court defending himself against the $5,000 law suit filed by
Butler’s widow, charging him with neglect.

Mrs. Butler alleged that “there having been placed there no
sufficient and proper guards, he fell into the excavation, and was, by the
fall, so badly injured that he died in a few hours afterward.” Herter’s lawyer argued that Butler was simply
drunk.

He told the jury that “the excavation was well and
sufficiently protected, and that none but a very negligent or reckless person
could have fallen into it.” He added
that “at the time of the accident, deceased was grossly intoxicated, and that
his death was caused by his reeling and stumbling through the guards which had been
placed there.”

The Times reported that “Much effort was made by the defence [sic] to show that deceased was a habitual drunkard, and especially on the night in
question that he was grossly intoxicated, and not capable of taking care of
himself.”

The low character of the neighborhood was finally transformed by
the 1870s. Metal ware manufacturer
Cassidy & Sons had taken over both No. 103 and No. 105 Mercer Street by
1875. The company apparently dealt in
affordable household items, for on March 1 of that year it advertised in The
Sun for “a first-class spelter caster.”
Spelter was an inexpensive alternative to bronze or silver.

The roof was raised to a full floor. The dark scar is evidence of a missing cornice -- photo by Alice Lum

It may have been Henry Scheib who raised the attic to a full
floor, as evidenced by the change from Flemish bond to regular bond
brickwork. For some reason the paneled
lentils were carefully copied and the exact proportions of the openings below reproduced. (It is possible that two of the lintels are
the originals from the parlor level.)

Scheib advertised as a “Printer, Stationer and Lithographer”
and the 1891 History and Commerce of New
York said “This gentleman is an expert…making a leading specialty of
mercantile printing and account books to order and has been established in the
business here since 1890. His business
premises are thoroughly equipped and well stocked in all departments.”

The show window that replaced the parlor openings displayed “stationery
of every imaginable description, including all the most recent novelties of
home and foreign production, and the assortments are always full, complete and
choice.”

Henry Sheib’s stationery store would not last another year
here, however. In 1892 the former house
was headquarters for Erdody and Gerhardt, furriers. Mercer Street had become, by now, the center
of the fur trade. The firm not only
manufactured its furs on premises, but sold them here as well. On January 13, 1892 a fire on the first floor
resulted in its loss of $1,200 in merchandise (about $30,000 today); and $300
damage to the building.

Fur dealers continued to make No. 105 their home for
years. In 1896 G. Margulies was in the
building, employing three men; and in August 1898 H. Judenfreind & Son, “manufacturers
of furs and fur trimmings” moved here from Great Jones Street.

For nine years starting in 1901 A. Halpern & Co.,
manufacturers of “hats and caps” operated from the building. Its five employees each worked an average of 59
hours a week. Then, in 1909, No. 105
Mercer Street was headquarters for the contracting company of C. J. Degurle. The
Plumbers Trade Journal commented that year “C. J. Degurle…is very busy with
several alteration jobs. He is doing
work on the new bridge tunnel connections for the Bradley Contracting Company.”

In 1934 No. 105 had a large shop window. photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

The SoHo district suffered more than half a century of
neglect. Small businesses and factories
continued to use the buildings; many of which were abused and suffered
decay. Change came again beginning in
the 1960s when artists discovered the old lofts. In 1965 a 23-year old jewelry designer stumbled
across the vacant, dilapidated No. 105 Mercer Street. There were no windows on the upper floors and
inside chunks of plaster littered the floors.
She rented the house for $150 per month after the landlord installed
utilities, a toilet and a sink.

The designer stayed on for five years before marrying and
moving on. In 1980 the building was
converted to an “Artists-Conjunctive” dwelling.
Technically a single-family home; the Department of Buildings called it “Joint
living work quarters of and for artists.”
The Department stressed “At least one (1) occupant shall be an artist
certified by the New York Department of
Cultural Affairs.”

The former shop window had been renovated to a more residential opening -- photo by Alice Lum

Considering its varied past and many uses, the survival of
the building’s Federal details is nothing short of miraculous. Dwarfed by the large cast iron and brick loft
buildings around it, it is an unexpected relic of a nearly forgotten period in
SoHo history.

Taggers have no respect for history or design. When I lived in California, they tagged everything from blighted buildings, to air terminals, city halls, and trees in the orchards of the central valley. It is all about "them" and their "art".